


Five Times Skye Took Off Her Suit In Front Of Coulson (& One Time He Did It For Her)

by zauberer_sirin



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Adrenaline, Bisexual Phil Coulson, Canon Disabled Character, Developing Relationship, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Future Fic, Huddling For Warmth, Mutual Masturbation, POV Phil Coulson, Showers, Trust, Unresolved Romantic Tension, body issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-22 12:37:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4835648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/pseuds/zauberer_sirin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Skye knows he likes the suit. She knows.</p>
<p>(aka the fic where Coulson in unable to sexualize Skye's naked body)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Skye Took Off Her Suit In Front Of Coulson (& One Time He Did It For Her)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [notcaycepollard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notcaycepollard/gifts).



**one.**

“Be careful,” Fitz hisses in his highest-pitch voice. "These materials are very expensive, the composite–"

Skye's eyebrows fell Fitz's protests as she keeps struggling to unzip her suit.

Coulson is a bit more worried about the drops of blood tricking from under her gauntlet and down the tips of her fingers than about how much the fabric of the suit costs.

"We need to get to the airfield, fast," he tells Fitz and he gets the drift and climbs over to the driver's seat. Coulson could drive, technically, but he has had more medical training than Fitz, in case Skye needs him.

And she's going to need him.

She is doing her stubborn routine and already trying to get the clothes out of the way to expose the wound, all on her own, with one working hand. Coulson is not one to talk and he tries to let her do it herself if she can.

She pulls the suit down until the fabric pools around her waist, leaving her basically in a bra in front of Coulson.

"Well, Director," she says, in a mock seductive voice. "I was hoping you'd buy me dinner before we reached this point."

She's joking, which means she must really be in pain, Coulson realizes.

He looks at the wound, and yes, it's deep. Nothing he can do about it from here except stop the bleeding while they get her back to the base and proper doctors. Skye presses herself against the side of the van to soothe the pain. He finds the first aid kit and grabs the bandages quickly. His fingers wrap around Skye's elbow carefully, twisting it towards him. 

Skye's blood on his hands. He tries to keep his mind from going there.

"Ah. Hey!" she protests.

"Sorry," he says to her wincing expression, her left eye closed in pain. "I need to make it tight. You've lost a lot of blood."

"Yeah I noticed."

Suddenly the car stops. 

Coulson looks around. They are not being attacked. Everything is quiet on the street.

"Fitz, why the hell are we stopping?" he asks in a loud voice, without pausing his tending to Skye's wound.

"Traffic light," the young man replies.

" _Fitz_."

"All right, all right."

The car starts again.

"I'm sorry," Skye says as he finishes tying the bandage. "I should have known that guy was behind me. I was stupid."

"We all were," Coulson tells her. "It's on all of us. It happens."

Skye seems unconvinced. And tired. Suddenly her features seem sharper, like she hasn't eaten in days – she is losing too much blood, Coulson thinks frantically while his hands on her skin are calm and slow and still.

"I should have..." she tries to say, breathless, and looking dangerously sleepy. "I should have worn a prettier bra today."

Coulson smiles. More jokes. He wraps his hand around the back of her neck to make her look at him.

"You're going to be fine," he tells her, massaging the base of her skull.

She nods at him and Coulson knows she's not one to break promises so he breathes a bit easier. She has been in worse spots. He takes off his jacket and uses it to cover her body, trying to save her the discomfort of being half naked in the back of a van with her boss. Skye twists her fingers into the collar and pulls the piece of clothing up under her chin, until her shoulders are covered too. She says "thanks" in a tiny voice only Coulson can hear because even bleeding out from a gunshot Skye is the kind of person who would say thanks. It makes him a bit angry, yet he doesn't want her to change.

He throws a look over his shoulder to the driver's seat.

"Fitz, I swear, if you're trying to stay within the speed limit you're fired."

Fitz says nothing, but he notices the car subtly speeding up.

Skye laughs.

 

**two.**

There is only one decontamination shower in the Playground.

It's not a big place and honestly Coulson never thought there would be need for it, personally he doesn't believe that should be a problem between agents. It goes with the territory. You get hurt, other people get hurt, you're in spots like this one. You see your teammates naked, that's going to happen. And they will see you naked. He's been through that a few times: May, Natasha, they have both seen him naked and viceversa. He's even seen Director Fury naked.

This isn't different, he thinks as he and Skye take off their field clothes as quickly as they can, he actually has to help her out because her outfit is a lot trickier. She gives her boots a groan of frustration and mutters "thank you" when Coulson kneels before her to get them off, both still spooked about what happened on the field.

But this is different, he realizes.

Not because of Skye, of course. Not that she isn't a beautiful, desireable woman. But they're both agents and grown-ups and right this moment, in decontamination, that's all they are. 

It's because it's the first time since he came back from the dead that someone sees him naked. It's not even that. It's not even the big, ugly scar on his chest (though he doesn't like the idea of anyone seeing it, perhaps Skye even less, since his resurrection and aftereffects were so connected to her forced transformation into an Inhuman). It's the arm. It's someone seeing him naked since he lost it. Having the prothesis helps, normally, but standing here naked in front of another person, it makes it obvious to him, an incompleteness that no robot hand can ameliorate.

They step into the showers and at first don't say a word, which is to be expected.

But Skye doesn't look at him uncomfortable or recoils from him as they get doused with cleaning products. And he tries to stand side by side, instead of turning his back, to let her know it's okay.

When she catches his glance she arches her eyebrow humorously.

"I see you're not shy, sir," she comments.

He gives her a little smile, glad he gives off that vibe. He wouldn't want her to think her presence causes him discomfort. Even though it does. 

"The substance... It's probably nothing," Coulson tells her, noticing the worry in her eyes. "The shower is just to make sure."

She nods, looking unconvinced.

After a while Coulson is able to relax, a bit shocked that it's this what happens. At first he had felt too vulnerable, but then he starts to appreciate that feeling. Like he has been missing it, all this time. It's not so bad, he thinks, being naked. He knows, deep down, this surprising revelation has to do with Skye being the one in here with him. He means: it's not so bad, being naked in front of Skye.

"I am, by the way," she says, disturbing his thoughts. " _Shy_. I had to share a bathroom with twelve other girls on my floor growing up. So I value things like privacy, not being naked in front of others, that kind of thing."

"Sorry about this."

"No, I didn't tell you to make you feel bad," she says, waving her hands. "It's not your fault. After all you only got hit with whatever this is because you went after me, to help me."

She drops her head a bit.

Coulson would like to touch her arm to reassure her but he fears it might make her uncomfortable, so he uses words instead. "It's not your fault either," he tells her, because if she's in trouble of course he's going to follow her and try to help.

After the shower they still have to stay in quarantine for over an hour. At least the naked part is over and now they have clean clothes on and Coulson appreciates the warm environment inside their little glass cage, after the chill of the water.

They are both sitting together on a gurney, waiting for the blood work to come back, and Coulson notices the tension in her body, like something ugly is slowly coiling around her limbs. He knows what it is.

"I'm sorry. I know this must bring back some bad memories," he tells her.

She turns to him, settling back to face him. It disappears, that ugly thing, and her body seems lighter again. 

"Yes, but... it's different now," she tells Coulson, lacing her hands together. "Because... This time I'm not alone."

 

**three.**

"We're gonna die we're gonna die we're gonna die," Skye keeps saying as they move across the room in a frenzy, their clothes drenched and their skin turning a dangerous shade of purple by the minute. The storm makes the door rattle and Coulson wonders if they are safe at all.

"I'm sorry," he says, when starting the fireplace becomes a struggle, then a total failure. "I'm not really from the country."

"City girl here, too," she agrees.

Together they eventually manage, but by that time they need to take off their clothes and stay close to the fire if they don't want to die. And it is a really stupid mission to die on. So Skye finds a couple of blankets somewhere in the safehouse and Coulson puts some cushions right in front of the flames and when she comes back they peel all their clothes off and huddle together instantly, no modesty, no doubts. They just want to survive. Skye curses at her superhero suit, and how for all the money that went into it Fitz and Mack did not think of making it waterproof. Her hands are shaking and that makes unzipping the damn thing almost impossible. Coulson would help but he notices his hands are shaking too. In the end she has to vibrate the suit open.

Skye maneuvers the blankets over their shoulders once they are sitting and she presses her body to his right side. Coulson can't deny how entirely shocking the contact is. But again, survival instincs kick in and he presses his body against hers just as desperatedly.

"Lucky, we have already seen each other naked," she jokes.

She's shivering wildly, exhausted after using her powers to the brink. He forgets about how strange, how terrifyingly unusual is for him to feel another human being naked against his body. He slips his arm around her back and starts rubbing her shoulder, trying to warm her up. 

"Yes, lucky."

"It would have been very awkward," she goes on, "if I had to find out like this, that you were Jewish."

Coulson chokes out a laugh. 

" _Half_ Jewish," he corrects.

She snort-chuckles. "Oh I don't know, it looked _full_ Jewish from where I was standing."

She makes her point with a little friendly kick to his ankle. Coulson retaliates by swaying shoulder against shoulder. Her skin is still cold and a bit damp but it's still bafflingly enjoyable, feeling his body being touched like he is a person again. She slips her foot from under the blanket to stretch it towards the fire, to let the heat lick her sole, wiggling her toes, and Coulson notices the nails painted orange. He watches her wince as feeling comes back to her numbed limbs.

"This is nice," she says, like she was reading his mind just now. "I'm still 97% sure we're going to die of hypothermia but this is still nice."

"It is?"

He's not sure what she's getting at.

She presses her knee against his thigh. 

"Being touched," she comments. "Not something that happens to me anymore."

He frowns. There is something nostalgic in her voice. Or hopeless. He hadn't noticed. Skye has never been a touchy person – except that she knows how to use physical contact to put people at ease, to use it as social shorthand, but he always knew it wasn't something she did for herself. He guesses she's a bit more guarded of late. He never imagined this was something that was hurting her, something that, apparently, she has not chosen.

She presses her face against the curve of his shoulder. The fire in front of them has been doing its work and now Coulson feels his body warming up, no longer numb and in risk of total failure. He feels her mouth, dry, against his skin. That is nice. It's friendly, it's – he feels good around her.

"Is that all right?" Skye asks, staring at the flames.

Coulson moves his hand from her shoulder and starts stroking her back. Her muscles are still stiff from the cold and he starts drawing circles with his thumb. "Yeah. It's nice."

It's like she tries to repay caress with caress, now she brushes her ankle against him, the curve of the bone settling comfortably over his forefoot. He is about to tell her that she doesn't need to reciprocate but it occurs to him that it's safer this way, it keeps it as something they do _for_ each other.

"I don't know if it's my powers or what but... People just don't touch me," she says. Her voice has become a thread, clear but thin. When she pauses Coulson can hear the crackling of wood burning louder than her words. "I swear the only time is when I get sick and Simmons takes my temperature. It's a highlight, I'm not gonna lie."

"Skye..."

"I like that, that you keep calling me that," she tells him. He knew that, that's why he keeps doing it. "You know I have changed, but you're not afraid of me."

Do people not touch her because they're afraid of her now that she has powers? Or is it the other way around? Does Skye avoid touching people because she worries that they are frightened of her? That sounds to him more like Skye, if he is honest.

He moves his right hand downwards, until he rests it gently on the small of her back. She lets out a warm, fragile sound. Her hand slides from where it had been resting under her legs and wraps around Coulson's knee. He wonders if they are entering the arena of inappropriate here, but it doesn't feel like that. He doesn't feel inappropriate. Skye gives him a curious look but he doesn't move the leg away.

"Do you miss being touched?" she asks. "I mean, I don't want to assume, sir, but we practically spend every hour of the day together. Unless you're sneaking out of the base at night to date..."

"No," he admits. "And yes, I miss being touched." He swallows. He has tried not to think about that lately. "Specially since..."

"Since the arm?" she finishes.

"Yes." Skye nods slowly, like she understands. Which, she really can't. Just like he can't exactly know what it means, to have every cell on your body change. But they understand each other in ways others can't, he thinks, he _hopes_.

She scrapes her nails gently across the inside of his right thigh, towards his groin. Instead of tensing up something about her touch makes his whole body start to unknot.

"You don't have to," he tells her, moving his fingers to stroke her hair like he wants to comfort her, because he couldn't live with himself if he didn't say it.

"I want to," she says. With her free hand she pulls his away from her neck and tugs it against her stomach, until Coulson's palm rests under her breasts. She's shaking a bit, but it's not the cold and it's not a bad thing either.

"You want me to...?"

She nods. "I'm your friend, right?"

He nods back. She's probably his best friend, all things considered.

He draws the tips of his fingers accross her belly, down her navel. Skye shivers, catches her breath, lets it out in a tiny, pleased moan. It does sound like she hasn't been touched like this in a long time. Coulson feels a pang of sympathy, which isn't unusual when it comes to her.

"And I know this is not–" she starts. "I know that. But that can be okay, right?"

She looks directly into his eyes, not shy, but careful. Coulson could make a speech about non-fraternization rules and power imbalances but he knows none of that can happen with them. It's hard to explain but he would like to tell her he's not looking to use her right now, she's Skye. She's still Skye. Her body is Skye's body. And he wants to make her feel good _because_ she's Skye.

"That's okay," he says, his fingers slipping further. Skye smiles when he starts touching the soft pubic hair.

"That's what I thought," she tells him. "I'd like you to trust me."

"I trust you," he is quick to assure her. A bit too quick, judging by her gentle grin.

She wraps her hand around his cock and it's – strangely non-sexual. Well, as non-sexual as a beautiful woman who happens to be the person he loves most in the world wrapping her hand around his cock can be. But this is about something else. It's sweet. He's hard in a moment, like he's body has just been waiting for her.

He moves his hand between her legs as well. He doesn't want to be invasive or fast. He's thinking about her loneliness. He moves his index in circles around her clit, not touching it, working a rhythm as best as he can – considering Skye's own hand is slowly moving up and down his erection.

If he thinks about it he hasn't done this kind of thing since he was a teenager.

They both start breathing in long, _easy_ breaths.

His fingers drop lower, teasing her with care.

She lets out a little surprised chuckle. "I had forgotten how it felt," she explains, like talking to herself, closing her eyes and smiling.

And Coulson feels something heavy building up in his heart, because Skye is not twenty-eight yet, she shouldn't have to forget what someone else getting her off feels like. She shouldn't. She brushes the pad of her thumb accross the tip of his cock and that brings him back to the moment, the tension in his jaw gone.

"I'm close," she says, leaning against the curve of his shoulder again, nuzzling his skin, with her eyes closed.

It doesn't take Coulson much longer than it does her, both of them smiling at the other after their shallow, silent orgasms. Skye properly settles the blankets over their shoulders again, and Coulson has time to wrap his arm around her back again, before they start dozzing off.

They fall asleep like that, sitting in front of the fire, holding each other up.

 

**four.**

"I will be leading the assault from the south west corner," Skye is saying, tapping her fingers on the screen, as they go over the plans for next day's mission. For the third time or so. They like going over the plans until it all feels like it can easily fall into place. It's good that this is something they share. A care for preparations (not an obsessive care, they leave that to Simmons) and a good eye for figuring tactical problems before they present themselves.

"I'll be running back-up," Coulson says, agreeing to let her take charge on this one. 

"But only just in case," she reminds him. "These people might be dangerous. But they might not. We could solve this talking. That's why I need to go in first."

He nods.

He's been watching her a bit more closely these days. _But only just in case_.

A week has passed since the cabin incident (he's not calling it the Cabin Incident) and Skye seems uninterested in bringing it up. Coulson knows it was important to her, but perhaps not for a reason that requires more examination. It touches Coulson that she trusts him like that, and Coulson himself is not sure he wants this examined. Their friendship is as important as air to him.

So he's glad that she doesn't seem to be treating him any different after that, and that night, when he finally retires to his quarters and gets ready for bed Coulson is not expecting her to knock at his door.

He definitely is not expecting her to be in her field uniform.

"What's wrong?" he asks, the alarms in his head suddenly going off. "A mission?"

She shakes her head and walks into his room, sliding the door shut behind.

He watches her pacing a bit, making a fist with her hand and pushing it the palm of her other hand. Coulson backs off towards his bed, leaving her the space.

"Sit," she says.

He does, without thinking.

She starts taking off her clothes.

"Skye? What are you doing?" he asks. A different kind of panic.

"I figured it out," she says, pulling the suit down her arms.

"What have you figured out?" he asks, trying to concentrate, while his eyes move over her naked shoulders, and he realizes he's never looked at her like this before. 

"Everything," she says, working one arm out of the outfit. "And I know you've seen me naked before, but I want this to be different."

He narrows his eyes at her. "If this is about the safehouse..." He will not call it the Cabin Incident. And he will not let Skye think that they owe each other anything.

"It's not," she tells him, resolute. 

She plants one hand on his shoulder to keep stable as she kicks her boots off. Coulson thinks about her putting on her mission clothes, with requires some time and care, only to undress in front of him now. Because she knows he likes the suit. Because _she knows_. And he doesn't know if he's terrified and or touched by it. He doesn't have time to decide, though, because in a moment she's completely naked in front of him, while he is still sitting on the bed, and his hands move to her hips instinctively and she's right, _this is different_. 

He keeps his hands on her hips as they move together on the bed and he lies on his back, anchoring either or both of them. He takes a couple of long breaths as she settles her weight on his lap. His fingers dart down her waist, coming to rest on the side of her thighs. Her skin is warm, a different kind of warm from the safehouse, she's right, and when she starts touching him that's completely new, too.

She's drawing the lines on Coulson's face as if she is considering whether she likes it or not.

"I figured the whole thing out," she repeats, index pressed against his bottom lip. "The thing with loneliness and... and you. Do you understand?"

He mutters _I understand_ against the touch of her fingers and Skye slowly pushes one inside his mouth.

The gesture feels inorderly intimate for two people who have masturbated each other. But Coulson doesn't question it because he suspects he's done a lot of things in a strange order when it comes to Skye. He doesn't question it, he jumps at the chance.

He starts sucking at her fingers, twisting his tongue around them or in the space between them, moving his head back and forwards in a rocking motion.

She is right on top of him, her weight bearing down on his lap, and the thin fabric of the pajama pants cannot hide how much he is enjoying this. He grabs her wrist and pulls, pushing her fingers further inside his mouth, until his lips close below her knuckle. Skye gasps – enjoying it just as much, it seems, rolling her hips against his hard-on pitilessly – and throws an excited, questioning look at his expert technique that makes Coulson want to tell her every little detail about his life, every person he has ever loved before he has loved her.

Because yeah, there's that.

He loves her.

She pulls her fingers out a bit, pressing her indes against his teeth.

"You trust me?" she asks.

Coulson mouths her name around the first articulations, like that's an answer. It is.

Something wonderful happens.

She vibrates the air around her fingers a bit, like a quick fluttering inside his mouth.

"Fuck," he mutters, tongue pressed under her fingers, something about the feeling going directly to his heart and his cock.

Skye stares down at her.

"You are not afraid of my powers," she says.

Coulson shakes his head. It's obvious that "afraid" is not what he feels when it comes to her abilities. He wraps his left hand around her wrist again, keeping her still as he fucks his own mouth against her fingers. Now it's Skye's turn to say obscenities in a low, quiet voice, while her eyes never leave Coulson's lips as they move up and down the length, fascinated.

She finally pulls out, wiping her hand on his t-shirt, a gesture that seems to Coulson unberably sexy at the moment. She grabs his shoulders, like she means to shake it, bringing their faces closer, pressing her breasts against his chest. Coulson writhes quietly against the mattress, wanting to feel more of that. Her body is incredible, and he had never realized before.

"I have a lot to give," Skye tells him. That's what she said about her father, too. She runs her fingers across the side of his head, softly tangled in his hair. "And I want to give it to you."

He nods.

"I don't want you to be lonely," she says.

"Skye, that's not a reason–"

" _I_ don't want to be lonely," she tells him. "And you– you are the person who makes me feel the most... _not lonely_."

He nods again, with a knot in his throat, in his heart, because these last few years he's been thinking about how much of his life he had wasted on being someone he didn't like, but if that happened so he could become the kind of man who makes Daisy Johnson feel _not lonely_ then maybe "waste" is not the word for it.

He reaches out to kiss her mouth – he wants to kiss her so badly, it's weird, because he didn't, all the time she was jerking him off that night – but Skye stops him. Her hand on his lips again. This time she presses the tips softly, drawing the outline with adoration.

"And–" she starts, then falters. He can see shyness creep up in her expression. That inherent shyness she has in spades that no one seems to notice because she's Skye and Skye is not supposed to be shy. "We love each other," she adds.

"Yes." The word slips out easily, easier than anything else in his life.

"I mean, we're _in love_ with each other. Even I know that."

Coulson slides his arm around her waist, pulling her closer.

"I'm in love with you," he says. He was wrong. _These_ are the easiest words.

She gives him a little satisfied nod.

She let him kiss her, finally, and it's unlike all the times they have touched before. His mouth feels raw from sucking her fingers, this gentler touch of hers works like a balm. He hugs her tighter, her chest pressed against his chest until he's sure she can feel his heartbeat, and then he remembers she always can.

"Now I'm feeling a little underdressed for this party," she says, gesturing between them, her naked body straddling his lap.

He helps her to one side, quick to remedy that. His t-shirt is gone in a moment (arousal trumping shyness at this point), pants and boxers taking barely another.

"I don't have protection," he admits.

She gives him what he unmistakeably recognized as a pitiful look and says: "Utility belt."

"Really?"

"I don't carry those on missions!" she clears up. "I just thought we might need them tonight."

She sounds thoughtful instead of smug.

Again the idea of Skye suiting up to come see him, and come prepared, fills him with an strange tenderness, because the idea of something doing all that for him feels as alien as the idea of Skye being the one.

He comes back to bed with the condom in his hand and suddenly, finally, he feels a bit shy under her young gaze. She waits for him, sitting up on her knees over his bed covers. _His_ bed covers. Skye on his bed, in his room.

"You've seen me naked before," he says. Skye runs her hands over the hair on his chest. He is trying to appeal to her sympathy. "Hopefully it's better this time." 

"Oh much better," she says, palming his erection while she kisses him open-mouthed.

Overwhelmed, he disentangles himself from her and lies on the bed. The concentration it requires to put on the condom – not because he's clumsy, he might have not done this in a long time, but he's not completely hopeless here; it's just that he doesn't like the feel of his prosthetic on his cock, but it's necessary – relaxes him a bit, actually.

Skye is just waiting for him, watching him, only moving over him when Coulson gives her a " _I'm ready_ " signal.

"I have a confession to make," she says, touching the top of his left arm as she lines their bodies together. "When we were in the showers... I thought you were hot. I felt really bad afterwards, but it happened."

He tilts his head to one side, feeling strange tenderness at her words.

"Not in the cabin!" she amends quickly. "I swear I wasn't – I wasn't trying to take advantage of you that night."

He touches her face, reassuring her it's okay, he knows she would never do that.

"Come here," he says.

They jump at the chance together.

 

**five.**

"Well, that was close," she says, with a familiar self-satisfied look on her face.

It's not that Skye likes danger (she _really_ doesn't), but she enjoys a job well-done.

"You were amazing back there," he tells her, climbing into the back of the van with her. 

"You weren't so bad yourself, sir," she replies with a smirk that spells hunger.

Coulson can still smell enemy fire on their clothes.

Skye is all teeth and nails and adrenaline once the van door is closed. He opens his mouth under her and just because he is pliant it doesn't mean he's not passionate. He watches her pull down the zipper on her suit with the same greedy eyes. They're still figuring the relationship out, it's still new, and their need for each other still surprises them at inconvenient moments like this.

She lies down on the floor of the vehicle, baring her chest and stomach, grabbing Coulson by the wrist.

"Quick," she says and it's enough to make sure in seconds he has his hand under the fabric of the suit, and his fingers inside her. She groans against his mouth, not wet enough yet, digging her nails into the back of his neck. Coulson quickly feels that this is not enough for her.

She sits up and pulls him off her, grabbing his belt. They've fucked after a mission before, but not exactly right-after or almost mid-mission. The adrenaline rush is new to him. He used to be a proper agent –keeping to the non fraternization guidelines obsessively– but he doesn't mind leaving that part of himself behind. Specially for Skye and her clever fingers working the zip of his dark jeans and freeing him and pulling at him until he grits his teeth, just on the pleasant side of pain.

"Help me get out of this," she tells him, the hand sadly gone. He growls at the loss of contact, this wonderful freedom he has with Skye to be a bit selfish sometimes, to allow himself to want, to _need_.

But he does as she says and helps her slip the suit down her arms.

"What the–?" she struggles to roll the legs of the suit down. "I hate these boots. Who the hell designs them? You know what? Forget it. Let's do this."

She turns around and crawls on her knees, pushing her ass back against him, unable to wait any longer. Coulson wouldn't normally enjoy it like this – he always wants to see her face – but the realization of that, that she can't wait to have him inside her, is enough to fix that for now.

He presses his face against the back of her head, lining their bodies together.

"Come on, Coulson," she tells him, sharply. "Just do it."

She's bossy. She's impatient. He doesn't mind. He brushes her head off her face and kisses her cheek as he pushes in. She bites down a moan. God, he's never been like this with anyone else. Not to invite a bad pun but there's something Earth-shattering about being Skye's lover.

Coulson feels her bring her hand between her legs so he helps her out, reaching under her body to take his breast in his hand, rolling his fingertips againts her nipple until that gets him a whimper as reward.

"That was a close one," she repeats between pants, still thinking of the mission.

People think Skye never gets frightened. He knows better. He grabs her hips tightly and draws back, picking up the rhythm. Sweat starts pooling over the collar of his shirt and he realizes he hasn't taken off a single piece of clothing yet, not even his jacket.

It's all over as suddenly and desperatedly as it began and afterwards Coulson has to take a moment to sit down, feeling oddly light-headed.

He catches Skye giving him an odd look.

"Did you get hurt?"

Following her gaze he looks at his left arm, a small patch of blood seeping through to his jacket, the fabric torn.

"Shit," he says, feeling for the spot. It's right above his prosthetic and he guesses he has trouble distinguishing between the usual discomfort of the nerve connections and a wound. Just a cut, but with the effort of having sex the injury must have worsened.

Skye has her suit and zipped in a moment.

"Let me see," she says, moving to grab his arm.

"It's nothing," he says, always startled at how quickly Skye can go from force of nature to the gentlest touch he's ever felt.

She rolls her eyes at him. " _It's nothing?_ You know what I think about that stoic crap so don't even try."

He shakes his head. "No. No stoic crap. It really hurts."

She smiles at him, satisfied.

 

**one.**

"Talbot is such an idiot," she says as she storms into their quarters. "How have you not punched him in his stupid face until now?"

"It's a struggle," Coulson agrees, though he does remember he punched him once. Skye was too busy being kidnapped to know about that story.

"He almost blew the whole operation," she explains, as Coulson welcomes her back hom with his hands on her shoulders, trying to release the tension a bit. "I told him he and his men should fall back while we fixed the problem. And do you know what he did?"

"Not fall back?" he teases her.

"Exactly!" She groans, pressing herself back against his hands. Then, kind of seriously: "It sucks when you don't come on missions with me."

"I know," he says, kissing the back of her head. It doesn't happen often –he _prefers_ to go on missions with her– but sometimes they have to carry out their leadership duties separately. No doubt some people will say it's because they are sleeping together, this equal arrangement, not because Coulson actually needs her to basically co-Direct with him, but those people are not his problem.

"How was your day?" Skye asks, leaning her head back against his shoulder, Coulson hugging her from behind.

"Well, Weaver and I spent six hours looking at grainy satellite pictures of what might or might not be new Hydra bases, so there's that."

"Sorry," she mutters.

Not the funnest of days (god, he's picking up her speech patterns, it's terrible), no. Made worse because he knew she was on a dangerous mission and he couldn't even be on comms for her. But he survived, and she did too.

He keeps massaging her back gently. She is too stiff, contradicting her jokes about the mission. Coulson knows there's something she's not telling him, but she will, eventually.

"I'm so tired," she admits. "Undress me."

Coulson grins.

He loves this part.

It almost makes up for not having seen her all day.

He starts with the gauntlets, carefully because he notices a bit of discomfort in Skye when he pulls at the left one.

"I think I sprained my wrist," she says, twisting it with difficulty.

"Maybe you should go down to medical."

"Maybe you should kiss it better."

He rolls his eyes. She doesn't like going to medical for minor stuff, he knows. He always wonders about that – he has the theory it has to do with not wanting to bother the stuff. He does kiss it better, of course, because how can he say no to that. Then he sits her on their bed as he kneels before her, working to unzip her left boot.

"I really like it when you're on your knees."

"Mmm," he agrees. "We share some interests."

She laughs. He doesn't mind a reputation in telling bad jokes as long as he gets to hear her laugh like this.

"You love taking off my suit, uh?"

"Yeah."

"Say it," she orders.

"I love taking off your suit," he says, casually.

The ritual goes on. She sits up on the edge of the bed as he finishes with one boot and concentrates on the other. The ritual excites him, he feels himself slowing down the process, delaying the moment when he finalles gets her out of these clothes. He swears he takes a bit longer every time, and Skye doesn't seem to mind. She is patience when she needs to be.

Now she is stroking his hair gently, his face even more so, forcing him to look up with her fingers under his chin. It's one of those moments when she gets really serious and her eyes look old and he loves her so much like this but he wishes she'd never look this worried ever again.

"Phil," she calls. The world moves at a different pace whenever she uses his first name. Even after all this time she chooses very carefully when to, like it's a privilege she doesn't want to abuse.

"What?"

"It _really_ sucks when you are not there on a mission with me," she says.

Skye has no trouble saying _I've missed you_ but she likes to get inventive with it. Just like they don't have any trouble saying _I love you_ but most of the time the words feel too small and worn out by others. 

He climbs into bed with her, his weight straddling her lap. Skye gives him a cat-like smile but he can feel her hips shift in anticipation.

He takes her face in his hand, remembering old bruises invisible now, remembering tears gone now, remembering the paleness of her fear, the pink flush of her happiness or pleasure. Feeling the warmth of this moment right now, under his palm.

"Skye?"

"What?"

And sometimes those small words fit just right.


End file.
